


you're disgusting.

by zuriism



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Borderline Personality Disorder, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Child Abuse, Running Away, Self-Harm, slight gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 15:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12656511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuriism/pseuds/zuriism
Summary: that's all there is to it.————please don't read this if you are in any way uncomfortable with copious amounts of self harm. i dont want to upset anyone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a word of caution–  
> i self harm, and in a sort of coping strategy there will be some romanticization of it.

 12/6/20XX

 

It's dark, I hate this documentary. ... Its as if, some stupid omnipotent god had decided that  _yes, humans SHOULD be self aware_ and this is what we do with that info. god im so pretentious. what the fuck was that, its so dark in this stupid room my head is pounding this is too much god i want to die what the fuck is wrong with me I'm the person theyre talking about its me god im horrible i wish i was fucking dead

 

That night, you swallow 30 pills. You wake up the next morning.


	2. maybe...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ive had a terrible idea.

This is a plan that has been a whole day in the making. The side of your head still aches from where it hit the wall. You're leaving this city, this fucking shell that's kept you trapped for so many years. Your head is pounding, you can feel yourself getting more and more impatient as time goes on. Finally you can reinvent yourself, leave this messed up life behind, leave yourself behind, and be a new you. You leave with 3 bags at 11pm, sneaking out but not locking the door. It's cold, it's freezing and you're not well enough dressed for this. You board the train deeper into the city, so you can finally leave. It's 12am by the time you get off. But you can't find the station. You have to resist the urge to throw yourself off the bridges you cross. God, it's cold. God, these bags are so heavy. You didn't need everything you brought. You could've dressed warmer. It's 1am and you still haven't found the fucking station. Your fingertips are numb, and your boots aren't waterproof enough for the snow. You're freezing, all the stores you pass by are closed. You're dragging your feet. You want to give up, but it's so, so cold. One of the buttons on your coat pops, the 5th of 7. You find the station, but it's closed. Hours 1am to 2am. It's 2:20am.

When your mother takes you home, you scratch your arms until you bleed.


	3. we've all got to die eventually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> but you should've been gone years ago.

The first time you drag a razor against your skin is no where near as climatic as your racing heart makes it out to be. The stupid thing is dull, so much so that you have to apply large amounts of gorce to even break skin. But it's enough to calm you and keep your demons at bay. It's been a long day of being told you're worthless. You've had this stolen, dull razor in your room for a week now. At some point, digging your nails into your skin was no longer satisfactory. The marks did not stay, it did not hurt enough to calm you. Even after scratching so furiously your skin was read and buring, just begging you to draw blood, it still wasn't enough. You were finally given reason to use this razor, and use it you did. Late at night, after crying and hating yourself for crying and hating yourself for hating yourself for crying, you had a moment of clarity. Your dear, dear razor, waiting to pierce your skin and draw your blood. Unfortunately after making 5 lines your attempts to draw blood were unsuccessful. It's really not as easy as the movies make it seem. You ended up with small scabs on your thigh where your skin ripped, but nothing else.

If at first you don't succeed, try again. You tried your ankle this time, much easier to accessin times of distress. You were almost proud when the tiniest amountnof blood oozed out of a long cut right above the bone. Of course, this was not enough. Being the self hating masochist you are and always will be, there was a need for better equipment. This was not cutting it. So, one late night you threw some clothes on, grabbed 10 bucks and visted your local drug store (local only in the sense that it wasn't outside of the city) and bought brand new double sided razors for 6 dollars. An outrageous price you would never pay for something so small, but when duty calls you answer. And duty was indeed calling.

The feeling of absolute calm that descends over you when you effortlessly draw blood with your brand new razor is almost euphoric. Finally. Finally you can get what a sorry sack of shit like you deserves. Oh, and the blood. You didn't even mean to cut that deep, and you were bleeding freely. For once in your life you planned ahead, and used the small square of gauze you'd gotten from a recent medical blood draw. You had been told that you were pre-diabetic, which really only sweetened this moment. Maybe the doctors of old weren't so wrong about the healing abilities of blood letting. You covered your ankles in cuts, using tissue to wipe up the blood. You only owned white socks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the longest chapter ill write for this. i can only write these when im too tired to care lest i set myself off


	4. only slightly drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can't handle the deep end. not that it matters, because you drag yourself to the bottom regardless.

it doesn't... feel good. it hurts. it stings, burns, consumes. it hurts, but that's the point isn't it? the thing that seems to go over everyone's heads when they ask "why?" it hurts. when you shatter, rebuild, and shatter again, and shatter and shatter and shatter into tiny pieces, tiny pieces that cut you and you bleed trying to put yourself back together becaayse _she'scomingshe'scomingshe'scoming_ it saves you. it makes you okay. you dont feel that hole where your heart was before it broke. you dont feel the pit in your stomach where the dread began to grow. you bleed and bleed and bleed and it hurts, it hurts so bad and your heart skips and you dig your fingers into it, deeper deeper deeper and it hurts so much you could cry but youre calm and this is good and right now, you could pull yourself apart limb by limb and smile because it hurts, you deserve this its your pain to have an no one elses. its yours. you control this. its yours, it hurts, and its okay.

you breathe. your hands are covered in blood, but it's okay. they're going to ask you why.

because. it hurts.


End file.
